


Under the...Foliage?

by Arbryna



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Earthborn (Mass Effect), F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna





	Under the...Foliage?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [openended](https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/gifts).



  
It’s all Vega’s fault.

Shepard hardly keeps track of Earth’s calendar—even when she was locked up at Alliance HQ, she didn’t really have a reason to know or care what day it was. When she suggested a party at her recently-gifted Citadel apartment to celebrate making it through the Reaper War intact, she didn’t think she had to specify what _kind_.

Leave it to Vega to point out that her party happened to fall right smack dab in the middle of Earth’s holiday season—which of course means observing certain Earth traditions. He recruited EDI to come up with some holiday recipes, and he and Steve have spent most of the afternoon decking out the apartment with festive decorations.

Where he got a _pine tree_ , of all things, she has no idea. She still can’t quite believe her own eyes: Wrex hauling a twelve foot tree into the apartment on his back is not a sight she ever expected to see. If it’s synthetic, it’s definitely well made—the scent is natural and strong, blending nicely with the warm aromas wafting out of the kitchen.

While Wrex and Grunt put the finishing touches on the tree’s decorations—and honestly, Shepard doesn’t think she _wants_ to know how they plan on getting that giant gleaming star onto the very top—James has taken up position in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and is currently attaching something to the ceiling there. It looks like…foliage?

“Okay, so I get the tree, and the food’s pretty obvious.” Shepard leans against the kitchen counter, narrowing her eyes at the bundle in his hand: soft leaves, tiny white berries, all wrapped together with a red velvet ribbon. “But why are you hanging plant clippings in the doorway?”

Vega flashes her a smirk. “Mistletoe, Lola—old Earth tradition. You hang it—”

He’s cut off by the chime of the front door. Shepard glances over, her stomach lurching when the viewscreen shows Ashley standing on the other side. “Hold that thought, James.”

Ashley jumps a little as the door slides open in front of her. When she meets Shepard’s eyes, there’s a familiar tightness in her smile—it’s been there since Mars, maybe longer—but there’s also genuine warmth. “Hey, Shepard.”

“Hey Ash.” Shepard swallows, trying to dislodge her heart from her throat. “Come on in.”

As she slips past Shepard into the living room, a look of almost childlike euphoria steals over Ashley’s face. “Mmm, it smells like Christmas in here!”

“Yep, Vega’s going all out,” Shepard remarks, taking the excuse to focus on the decorations instead of Ashley. It makes her only slightly less nervous, and turns out to be a wasted effort when she notices the large metal star perched slightly askew at the top of the tree; the two krogan are nowhere in sight. That can’t mean anything good. Shaking her head, she turns back to Ashley; one thing at a time. “Uh, can I get you anything? I think the cider’s safe now.”

“Safe?” Ashley’s eyebrow lifts.

Shepard shrugs. “It has to mull for a precise amount of time for optimal flavor, or something. EDI damn near killed me when I tried to get some earlier.”

“Shepard exaggerates,” EDI chimes in as they near the kitchen. “I would never inflict permanent harm on her.” Pause. “That was—”

“A joke,” Shepard finishes, chuckling. “So does that mean it’s safe now, or—” She’s cut off mid-sentence when she collides with a wall of muscle. “Uh, James? Can I get by?” Behind her, Ashley fails to suppress a snicker. From the look on Vega’s face, it’s taking a good deal of effort not to join in. There’s something here she’s missing. “Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No Commander, not at all,” James replies, rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances up at the plant above their heads. “It’s, ah, it’s like I was saying, with the mistletoe. You hang it in the doorway, and if two people are caught under it at the same time, they, uh…they kiss each other.”

“Oh.” From the amused look passing between Vega and Ashley, they must expect it to embarrass her. Granted, for all the flirting she does, they’ve never seen her go any further; it’s probably a good thing that neither has guessed the real reason why. Still, if they think a little kiss is going to make her blush, they’re in for a surprise. “Well, I wouldn’t want to break tradition.”

Bracing her hands on Vega’s shoulders, Shepard rises onto her tiptoes and presses her lips to his. She has no desire to deepen the kiss, but she does linger just long enough to make her point—and make her point she does; when she pulls away, it’s James who’s blushing.

“Damn, Lola,” he says with a grin.

Shepard’s victorious smirk falters as she glances back at Ashley; there’s a strange look on her face, one Shepard can’t quite identify. Is it…? No. Is Ashley _jealous_? Is she interested in Vega? Shepard’s stomach turns to molten lead at the thought.

The chime of the door is a welcome distraction. Glyph bounces in ahead of Liara and Garrus, a holographic red and white hat perched on its head. “Greetings, Commander,” it greets cheerfully, floating over to join them. “I have assisted Dr. T’Soni in acquiring the appropriate entertainment. Our combined efforts yielded nearly a terabyte of traditional Earth holiday music.”

“I wasn’t certain what to look for, so I downloaded it all,” Liara says with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, the more the better.” James grins. “Speaking of which,” he continues, grabbing a basket from the counter that contains more mistletoe, “I’d better get busy if I want to finish before everyone gets here.”

Ashley frowns. “Wait, how many of those things are you putting up?” she calls after him. He doesn’t answer.

“Sorry Ash,” Shepard offers with an apologetic smirk. “Looks like you might have to kiss a turian after all.”

The look on Ashley’s face gets even stranger, if possible, before she schools it into a more neutral expression. “I think I’ll survive,” she replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

“If it’s any consolation, I won’t exactly be able to grade your performance,” Garrus deadpans. “Turians aren’t much for kissing, what with the lack of lips and all.”

  
***

As it turns out, Shepard’s the one who has to kiss Garrus—it doesn’t take long for her to become preoccupied and forget about Vega’s little tradition. It’s not as awkward as it could be, owing mostly to the solid friendship between them; nonetheless, she starts paying a lot more attention to where she’s walking after that.

It helps that Jack decides to start taking up permanent—and loud—residence in the doorways with mistletoe in them. She initially reacted with horror when Shepard joked that she and Miranda might have to kiss and make up, until she glanced over and saw the same look on Miranda’s face; apparently the prospect of tormenting Miranda was enough to make her overlook her own reservations.

“Come on, Cheerleader,” Jack taunts, draped in the doorway to the kitchen. “Don’t you want some of this delicious food? Come on over and have some.”

Miranda shoots her a withering glare, rising from her spot on the couch. “I’d rather starve,” she replies with a plastic smile, stalking toward the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to follow; Shepard watches her go, chuckling quietly.

“What is their deal, anyway?” Ashley asks, shaking her head in amusement as she settles into the spot Miranda vacated--not far at all from where Shepard herself is sitting.

"Got me," Shepard answers with a nervous shrug. The flutter in her stomach gets pushed aside as she gets a whiff of whatever’s in the steaming mug in Ashley’s hands; it smells like it could be used to clean the Normandy’s engines. “What _is_ that?”

“Egg nog.” Ashley’s nose wrinkles. “It doesn’t usually have ryncol in it.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Shepard says with a good-natured groan. That answers the question of where the krogan went. “I’ll steer clear.”

Ashley smiles, looks down at her mug. Shepard takes a pull from her own drink—also spiked, but thankfully with good old Earth whiskey—and searches for something else to talk about. The length of a single couch cushion separates them, at once too close and not close enough.

“So,” Shepard finally begins, keeping her tone casual despite the lump in her throat, “how does this compare to Christmas with the Williams family?”

“It’s a lot more colorful,” Ashley replies, her grin turning to a grimace as she takes a swig of her drink. She swallows stubbornly, wincing as it slides down her throat. “Just boring old humans at our place. But Vega’s done a good job on the little details.” A smile steals back onto her lips. “Reminds me of my mom. She was always really big on Earth traditions, I think because we moved around so much; she wanted us to remember where we came from.”

“Sounds nice,” Shepard says, her smile only a little bit wistful. “I always wondered how people with families did it. The Reds were more concerned with food and weapons than hanging plants in doorways.” She smirks.

“Add booze to that list and that’s all the holiday I need,” Ashley cracks, taking another ill-advised sip from her mug. When she’s recovered, she looks back at Shepard. “It’s never too late to start making traditions of your own, you know. Hell, I think we’ve already started a couple,” she finishes, holding up the offending drink.

Shepard smiles around her mug, drinks down the rest of her cider to quell the fluttering in her chest. It almost works, until she glances up again and sees the look on Ashley’s face—then her heart jumps right back into her throat.

“Hey Skipper,” Ashley begins, somber and emotional. “You may not have had a family before, but you have to know you’ve got one now. I mean look around—I’m pretty sure you couldn’t get rid of any of us if you tried.” A shadow flickers through her eyes. “Well, again anyway,” she adds, dropping her gaze to her drink.

“Ash,” Shepard chides. Haven’t they been over this? Horizon, Mars, Udina…will they ever be able to get past it all?

“No, it’s—it’s okay,” Ash waves her free hand, offers a brave smile. “It’s ancient history now. Or at least it feels that way. The guilt just kinda sneaks up on me sometimes.” She sniffs, raises her mug pointedly. “Especially when I’m drunk. My fault, really.”

Without thinking, Shepard reaches over and grabs Ashley’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Maybe it’s the whiskey, but it feels incredibly important that Ashley understand. “You know I could never blame you for being true to your convictions.”

It feels like all the air’s been sucked from the room when Ashley squeezes Shepard’s hand, turns glistening eyes to Shepard’s own. “I know,” she murmurs, barely louder than a whisper.

Shepard finds herself leaning closer, ostensibly to hear better; her stomach lurches as Ashley’s eyes drift down her face. Everything else—the music, the laughter, the decoration—all falls away around them. There have been moments like this before, thousands of times she’s wanted more than anything to close the distance and press her lips to Ashley’s. This is one of the rarer ones though, the ones that keep her up at night pondering what-ifs—this is one of those moments where she feels like it might almost be mutual.

Ridiculous. Ashley has only ever shown interest in men, for one thing; for another, Shepard hasn’t forgotten how Ashley reacted to that dumb crack about kissing anyone Shepard ordered her to. She’s pretty sure they’re past the “accusations of sexual harassment” stage of their friendship, but Shepard’s not optimistic enough to hope for much more than a polite rejection.

Most of the time, anyway; not in these moments, not when she can feel the barest hint of Ashley’s breath on her lips and what she wants is close enough to fool her into thinking that she might be able to have it.

“Shepard!” Wrex bellows, clapping his hand down on Shepard’s shoulder. She jumps away from Ashley, looks intently down at her hands as he continues. “Try the egg nog. The whelp and I added an _extra special_ ingredient.”

“So I’ve heard,” Shepard says, rolling her eyes as he chuckles. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather retain feeling in my throat.”

“Ah, pathetic,” Wrex slurs, dismissing her with one large hand. “Where’s Liara? She’s part krogan, maybe she can handle a real drink.”

“That should go over well,” Shepard remarks as he wanders off, her heart still thundering in her chest. “I hope he’s drunk enough to endure a lengthy lesson on asari reproduction.”

Ashley chuckles nervously. Whatever the moment was, it’s over now. “Speaking of drunk,” she says, lifting her mug pointedly, “I’m gonna go grab something a little less toxic.”

Shepard wills her nerves to calm, watching out of the corner of her eye as Ashley rises from the couch and barely manages to avoid being trampled by Jack barreling through the living room.

Miranda is hot on her heels, a superior smirk on her lips. “What’s the matter, Jack—you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

***

If there’s one thing Shepard can say for Vega’s little “tradition”, it’s definitely been good for sheer entertainment value. Jacob’s been avoiding doorways at all costs, but it’s only a matter of time before Kasumi catches him on the way to the bathroom or something; the best thief in the business won’t be deterred from stealing a simple kiss.

And now, Traynor is in the doorway to the lounge, fidgeting and blushing as EDI explains that she can alter her physical form to be more human, if it would make the experience more comfortable. Shepard hides her laughter behind her hand; it’s not Traynor’s fault she’s so damn adorable.

It’s short and sweet, and soon Traynor is stammering out that she has to go, despite the fact that she’d been on her way _into_ the room a few seconds ago. Vega chuckles, finishing his shuffle and setting the deck of cards back onto the green felt.

“Good a time as any to get a refill,” he says, scooting back and rising from his chair. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

“No thank you, James,” Liara declines politely.

“Shepard?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Shepard replies. She hasn’t had _that_ much to drink, but any more might bring her dangerously close to a confession she shouldn’t make.

Liara turns to Shepard as James exits, speaking under her breath. “You’re rather quiet this evening.”

Shepard suppresses a groan; Liara is one of her closest friends, but sometimes Shepard wishes she couldn’t read her so damn easily. “Just thinking.”

“About anything in particular?”

As if on cue, there’s a snort of laughter in the doorway. Ashley presses her forehead to Vega’s chest and giggles; she must have been on her way in as he left. Something sour twists in Shepard’s stomach as James lifts his hands to Ashley’s hips; Ashley tilts her head back, curls her hands around his biceps, and Shepard can’t watch anymore.

“I suppose I didn’t need to ask,” Liara murmurs, a knowing smile gracing her lips.

“Tell me I’m not that obvious,” Shepard groans quietly.

“Well, I do have the unfair advantage of having been in your mind,” Liara admits. “You should be more grateful to Lieutenant Vega,” she teases. “He’s provided you with a perfect opportunity to find out if she feels the same, almost risk-free.”

Shepard’s head snaps back up, relief flooding her as she finds the doorway empty. It’s quickly replaced by a sick weight in her stomach; Ashley _was_ on her way in here before, but apparently Vega changed her mind.

“What’s the point?” Shepard says glumly, fidgeting with a plastic poker chip. “If she did feel anything, she’d have said something by now. Ash isn’t exactly one to beat around the bush.”

“In most cases, neither are you.” Liara smirks. “Have you considered the possibility that she has the same uncertainties and reservations as you?”

Shepard scoffs. “I think the universe has proved that it doesn’t like me that much.”

“Well you’re certainly not going to find out if you don’t try,” Liara chides, not unkindly. Her hand settles warm on Shepard’s shoulder, her voice gentling as she continues. “You deserve to be happy, Shepard.”

***

She thinks about it, she does. About how she could just _happen_ to end up in the same doorway as Ashley, how she might finally know what it’s like to kiss her even if it wouldn’t be real. She even entertains the idea of actually _doing_ it, once or twice—tries to work up the nerve—but when it does happen, it’s entirely by accident.

At least, that’s what she thinks at the time. Later, she’ll remember how it was curious that Liara and Vega both disappeared around the same time, not too long before it happened; how strange it was for Vega to insist that _Ashley_ be the one to get him another beer, at precisely the time that Liara asked Shepard for another glass of the honeyed asari wine she brought.

In the moment, though, there’s not really time to think about anything besides the fact that she’s supposed to kiss Ashley now. All of a sudden the whole thing seems like a terrible idea; how can she possibly do this without exposing just how much it means to her?

But Ashley is smirking in a way that’s almost breathless—and _blushing?_ —and her eyes are glittering with resolve. Neither of them are prone to backing down from a challenge. At least the alcohol has dulled the worst of Shepard’s nerves.

It’s meant to be a cursory meeting of lips, just enough to satisfy the requirements of this silly tradition. It’s meant to be quick, and chaste, and reveal nothing.

Of course, this is _Shepard’s_ life; nothing ever goes the way it’s meant to. Once she leans in, Shepard’s mind goes completely blank; her senses are all focused on the feel of Ashley’s lips under hers.

Distantly, she’s aware that it’s probably been long enough, but Shepard can’t bring herself to pull away. The surprising thing is that Ashley doesn’t either—when she moves, it’s only to tilt her head back just a little more, to press her mouth more firmly to Shepard’s own. Their hands, hanging limply at both of their sides, drift toward one another; then Shepard is dragging her fingertips over Ashley’s hands, up the soft blue cashmere of her sweater.

“Damn,” Vega says simply, when Shepard’s hands sink into Ashley’s hair at almost the same time that Ashley’s hands settle on Shepard’s hips.

They pull apart, but only just; their foreheads rest against one another as they catch their breath, eyes shut and cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

“Sorry,” Shepard murmurs, less self-conscious than she’d expect to be. She must be just drunk enough—on alcohol, on giddy desire, on the fact that Ashley hasn't gone running yet. “Guess I got carried away.”

Ashley pulls in a shaky breath, nibbling on her own lower lip as she stares at Shepard’s. “Skipper?” she starts, breathing slow and shallow. Her palms burn through the fabric at Shepard’s hips.

Shepard’s heart beats madly in her throat. “Yeah?”

“Don’t apologize.”

Then Ashley is tugging at Shepard’s hips, claiming Shepard’s mouth with her own, and any hope Shepard has of hiding the depth of her feelings disappears with the first swipe of Ashley’s tongue. She doesn’t even realize she has Ashley pressed against the kitchen counter until they’re jerked back to reality by Wrex’s trademark chuckle. Cheeks burning, Shepard turns to glare at him, her fingers still tangled in Ashley’s hair.

“What?” Wrex grins. “‘Bout time, if you ask me.”

“Wrex,” Ashley groans, hiding her face in Shepard’s shoulder.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

When he’s gone, Shepard quietly clears her throat. “We should probably talk,” she murmurs reluctantly. Her hand slides out of Ashley’s hair, drifting down to press against a flushed cheek. Her thumb strokes idly back and forth, coaxing Ashley to look up at her.

“Probably,” Ash breathes absently, her eyes sticking on Shepard’s mouth. She blinks, gives her head a little shake. “I mean, yeah. Talk. Definitely.”

It’s all Shepard can do not to be consumed by the hope thrumming in her veins.

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ashley says, staring down at the steaming hot tub in disbelief. “We’re supposed to talk when we could be in there _soaking_?”

“Some reason we can’t do both?” Shepard replies, leaning in the bathroom doorway. It’s only when Ashley’s eyes darken at her words that she realizes exactly what that reason is.

“Is that really a good idea, Skipper?” Ashley’s words are low and breathless, her chest heaving.

“Probably not.” In a fit of mad bravery, Shepard smirks and reaches for the top button of her dress shirt. Ashley’s eyes follow, glazing over as Shepard starts to pop the buttons free.

“God, what am I doing?” Ashley asks no one, reaching back to brace herself against the counter. Her voice holds more disbelief than hesitation, but Shepard stills her hands regardless.

“Nothing you don’t want,” Shepard promises, stepping forward to tuck a lock of hair behind Ashley’s ear. “Say the word, and I back off.”

That seems to make up Ashley’s mind; her finger hooks in the front of Shepard’s half-buttoned shirt, tugging her closer until their bodies are flush against each other. “Don’t you dare.”

Shepard grins, tilting her lips to meet Ashley’s again.

***

“We should probably _actually_ talk at some point,” Ashley sighs, her fingers tracing idle patterns into Shepard's bare shoulder. The sheets are tangled uselessly around their legs as they lie diagonally across Shepard’s bed, finally spent—at least for the time being.

It feels like the bottom drops out of Shepard’s stomach; despite everything that's just happened, it's still hard not to expect Ashley to launch into the rejection speech that's played out so many times in her head. “Look, Ash, I—I don’t want this to screw us up,” she says, swallowing roughly, savoring the feel of having Ashley in her arms while she can. “We’ve both had a lot to drink. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

There’s a brief pause, the slide of skin as Ashley props herself up on an elbow. The look in her eyes is wary, but determined. “What does it mean to you?”

Well, she’s gotten this far; it’d be a waste to turn back now. “Everything,” Shepard admits in a rush of breath, closing her eyes as she steels herself for heartbreak.

For a while Ashley’s only response is a soft intake of breath; when Shepard finally forces her eyes open again, Ashley’s are glistening with emotion. “Tennyson’s got nothing on you,” she says with a chuckle, then bites her lip. “It’s pretty much everything to me too. For a long time now.”

“Good,” Shepard says with a dumb grin. Her heart swells in her chest, her skin tingles with a giddy warmth. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Ashley snorts. “Even if it took us too damn long to get here,” she says dryly, fingertips dragging along Shepard’s collarbone.

“We’re here now,” Shepard points out, shivering as Ashley’s touch drifts up her throat. She grabs the wandering hand, pressing a kiss to its palm. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

Ashley's grin turns devious; she swings her leg over Shepard’s waist, straddling her as she leans over and nips at Shepard’s lower lip. “We’d better get going then,” she murmurs coyly into Shepard’s mouth. “There’s a _lot_  of time to make up for.”

The last coherent thought Shepard has for a while is that Vega deserves one _hell_ of a thank you gift. 

 


End file.
